


The 47 Jobs of Richie Ryan, Job One: Cat Wash

by Maple



Series: The 47 Jobs of Richie Ryan [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Cats, Employment, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple/pseuds/Maple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time around, Richie has a job washing cats. Not an easy task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 47 Jobs of Richie Ryan, Job One: Cat Wash

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, yeah, I know hardly anybody likes to read about Richie. But really, he's perfect for humor! And I am hoping to make this into a series. (Probably won't write all 47, but who knows? Maybe!)

This morning, he was hunkered down, eye to eye with the malevolent amber stare of Princess Whiskerkins–Prissy as her owner had nicknamed it–and combat was about to begin.

Richie had taken the job, as usual, to make ends meet.

He had his high school degree, luckily, because of Mac and Tessa, but no college degree, and that meant he was limited in the sorts of jobs that he was qualified to take. A guy had to eat, of course, and Richie wasn’t too picky about where he stayed, but he did have a few expenses. For one, he needed to make sure he had enough emergency cash on hand to buy a sword with if something happened to his current one, and of course, money to make an escape if someone really old and powerful decided they wanted his head.

So, Richie had taken the job at the local farm and garden store, which offered both self service and appointments. _Dog_ washing was a step up the ladder, and Richie was still strictly entry level, so he was restricted to cats. Dogs, naturally, mostly loved being wet and pampered, or at the very least tolerated being washed with whimpering and whining. Not cats.

Cats went straight out, all four legs splayed, claws gleaming and sharp as death. Cats yowled and protested. Cats tried to climb up to the top of his head, using his hide for purchase with those razors at the end of their feet. They hissed and spit. They squirmed and lunged, displaying feats of acrobatic skill that were nearly physically impossible. Cats, in short, didn’t want to be wet.

Yet, wet they had to be.

Princess Wiskerkins glared at Richie as he turned on the water and then the fight began. Richie went for the scruff of the neck, he went for the grab at the middle, he stayed away from the tail–he’d already learned how useless that move was–Richie tangled and fought and scrubbed. He pressed the cat against his body, wedging it against the tub as it raked his arm open, and he grabbed for the special shampoo that would never, ever hurt the poor, wee, darling’s eyes.

He wrestled the cat some more, sudsing and dousing, and finally rinsing. It was quite the task to avoid getting his own blood spattered all over the fur, and he held his arms akimbo while his wounds healed, blood dripping red and swirling down the drain with the bubbles. This was not a job for someone who wasn’t Immortal, he thought, as the cat sliced another razor through his forearm.

Finally, he removed the sopping, dripping, bedraggled Prissy from the tub and toweled her dry. Cats liked that part. Prissy started purring.

Camilla, the store manager, finally came by to check on him. “That’s amazing,” she said. “The previous employee we hired lasted three hours, and we had to send him to the emergency room for stitches.”

“Thanks,” Richie said, and decided he’d buy a newspaper and start looking for another job.


End file.
